


Misunderstandings

by nztina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Draco and Luna are cousins in this fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28524486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nztina/pseuds/nztina
Summary: Hermione Granger is perfectly happy with her quiet life until a certain blonde appears in her proverbial path.Notthatblonde.The other one.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 38
Kudos: 136





	Misunderstandings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends! I'm finally posting this little story - I originally wrote it as a one-shot but if there is any positive feedback, I might extend it by a few more chapters. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Also, I umm-ed and ahh-ed over a title for about two weeks before accepting the fact that it was going to be a rubbish one.
> 
> Thank you to anne_ammons and amilygranger for their alpha/beta work ❤️

**2001 - Saint-Tropez**

Hermione Granger was staring at the baguette in front of her when someone dropped their bag. She turned to see coins scattering on the linoleum floor. A girl with blonde hair fell to her knees, reaching to pick up her purse; muttering underneath her breath as she did.

Hermione bent down to fish a coin from where it had rolled against the newspaper stand and handed it to the girl.

“Ça va?”

The girl blinked owlishly at her, nodding.

“Oui, ça va. Uh, I’m sorry, I mean—um, je ne parle pas français couramment—,” she began, getting to her feet.

“English, then?”

The girl looked relieved. She nodded, twisting one of her braids around her fingers as she hauled her shopping basket up onto the counter behind Hermione’s.

“Yes, please. I really should learn it considering that we’re always visiting this place.” She started digging in her purse. “Sorry, I’m a complete mess this morning.”

“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” the clerk at the till beamed at Hermione. She returned the kind greeting.

“Oh, fuck.”

Hermione turned back, hearing the girl behind her curse softly. She was looking a bit ashen.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry. Nothing. Just, this day is _really_ not going well for me. I thought I’d sneak out to get everyone breakfast before they woke up but I’ve forgotten my bloody card.”

Hermione looked over the things in the girl’s basket; a loaf of bread; a bottle of milk; a bag of oranges and a pouch of coffee beans. At the bottom sat a small box of paracetamol tablets. She pushed the basket towards her own, addressing the clerk,

“Ceux-là, aussi, s’il vous plaît."

He nodded, and while he began processing the items, the girl behind her started protesting, Hermione felt a small hand encircle her wrist.

“No, no, no. Please, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Don’t be silly,” Hermione waved her off. “You need to eat breakfast and it’s really not that much at all.”

“But—”

“Please, it’s fine.”

The girl looked torn between protesting further and resigning herself to accepting the assistance. Hermione handed a few notes to the clerk. In French, she instructed the clerk to pack the contents of the second basket in a separate bag.

Outside in the sunshine, she tilted her head up to bask in the warmth as footsteps came up behind her. The girl withdrew a pair of sunglasses from her purse, smiling uncertainly.

“Hey,” she said, “thank you so much for paying for everything in there. I really appreciate it.”

Hermione shrugged, smiling.

“It was nothing.”

“If you give me your name and contact, I’ll send over the money—,”

“My name is Hermione and that’s all you need to know. You don’t owe me anything.”

The girl worried her lip as Hermione adjusted her own grocery bags on her arms.

“Do you live nearby?”

“A little bit down that way, by the patisserie.”

“Right, okay.”

“Don’t you start getting any ideas. I told you not to worry about the money.”

“Of course. Yeah.”

“Have a good morning, then. I—erm, I hope your day gets better from here on out.”

“You, too! And thank you, again!”

“Wait!” Hermione called and the girl turned around. “What’s your name?”

A crease appeared on the girl’s forehead for a brief moment before it smoothed and she flashed a dazzling smile.

“My name’s Luna. Luna Lovegood.”

— — —

The next morning was a slow one and Hermione sat by the cafe near where she was staying, nibbling on a tartine while a waiter replaced her empty cup with a fresh café au lait. In front of her sat a book, the pages stirring gently in the wind as she read at a leisurely pace.

A shadow fell over the words and she glanced up.

“Hermione! There you are!”

The girl from yesterday stood on the footpath, wearing a sundress and wide-brimmed hat. She beamed down at her before pulling up the empty chair opposite Hermione and sat with a flourish. Her fine, pale blonde hair was loose, floating around her like a golden halo.

“Luna?”

The girl laughed and pulled off her sunglasses. Tossing them onto the table, she started to fan herself.

“Isn’t it terribly hot?”

“What are you doing here?”

Luna smiled, coyly.

“I just happened to be passing through on my way to the shops and happened upon this charming little cafe. And to my surprise, you were sitting here so I thought I’d say hello.”

Hermione shut the book and raised an eyebrow, not buying the explanation.

“You just _happened_ upon this cafe?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Luna shrugged, before standing. “I’m starving. I might just go and see what they have to eat inside. One second, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the cafe and emerged a minute later.

“Saw something you wanted to eat?”

“Nope.”

“Then—”

Luna grabbed her hat and Hermione’s bag, stepping off the pavement onto the cobbled street.

“I’m not that hungry after all. Come on, you! Let’s go for a walk!”

“Wait a minute,” Hermione looked back at the cafe doors, “I just need to pay—”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I took care of it!”

“ _Luna_!”

Luna spun, eyes wide in mock-horror.

“ _Hermione_!”

Hermione sighed, catching the waiter’s eye. He smiled from where he stood in the doorway, waving them off.

“À bientôt, mesdemoiselles!"

She bid him goodbye before quickly following Luna down the street.

— — —

“So, tell me about yourself. You live here in Saint-Tropez? I know we both have British accents but mine is a result of many years of boarding school so I don’t wish to presume.”

“No. Gosh, no,” Hermione shook her head, pulling off her sandals as the two girls dipped their feet into the warm water by the shore. They sat on the beach, watching children play in the shallow part of the sea. “I’m renting a room from an old lady who owns a couple of houses in town. I’ve been here for two weeks now.”

“Very nice. And before that?”

“I was in Prague.”

“Nomadic. I like it.”

Hermione dug her heels into the wet sand, wondering how she managed to end up here when her plan for the day was to head to the local library to read for a bit.

“What about you? Are you holidaying here? Backpacking or something?”

Her new friend made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a snort.

“No. I wish, though. That sounds like a dream.” Luna pulled a tube of sunscreen from her bag and started slathering the lotion on her arms. “I’m here with my family. They’re fine in small doses, but they have this God-awful tradition that we have to spend a month during the summer altogether.”

“Here?”

“Every bloody time. I think the family has been doing our summer holiday on the Riviera since before I was born.”

“Wow,” Hermione remarked, feeling thoroughly inadequate. “My parents and I usually just go down to Brighton for a week in July if the weather’s nice.”

Luna laughed airily. A while later, and to Hermione’s horror, she flagged down a little boy wandering past and asked him to buy them ice cream from the vendor down the beach.

Hermione watched him come back with two cornettos, happily licking his payment: a fruit pop.

“What’s your sign?”

“Um,” Hermione thought for a second, trying to remember what Ron’s little sister had told her, “Virgo, I believe. I was born towards the end of September.” She licked a stray drop of melted ice cream from where it had trailed down her wrist.

“Ooh, interesting! I’m an Aquarian, myself.” Luna’s eyes glazed over in thought for a moment before she grinned. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

There was a silence, save for the soft lapping of water on the shore. Hermione finished eating her waffle cone and then Luna spoke again.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

Hermione blushed, suddenly dusting some sand off her knees to avoid looking at her new friend. Answering this question—no matter how frequently it was asked—was always tricky, not to mention embarrassing.

“No.”

“A girlfriend, then?”

“Oh! No. Do you? Have a boyfriend—or girlfriend?”

“Two boyfriends.”

If Hermione had still been eating her ice cream, she would have promptly dropped it.

“Two?!” she sputtered. Luna shrugged, nonchalant.

“Neville and Rolf.”

“Wow.”

“I like them both equally, but I get bored easily—of men, that is, not friends,” she winked, conspiratorially, “and nothing is serious, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because my father will probably want me to marry one of them if it _does_ become serious. He’s eagerly awaiting the day I announce that I’m in love with one of them. They’re both, as my mother puts it: ‘ _excellent marriage material_.’”

“Why is that?”

“Well,” Luna stared off into the horizon, looking thoughtful, “Rolf’s grandfather was really famous so his last name carries a lot of weight in society. And Neville,” she smiled, “is sweet and kind. But he’s also from old money, so he’s the whole package.”

“Old money?”

“Oh, yes. Gloriously old money, as Dad would say. He’s an orphan, too. Parents died in a car crash ages ago. It’s awful, and he’s still really torn up about it—poor darling, can you blame him? But that’s what would make him perfect in my parents’ eyes. Sole heir to their vast fortune. And Rolf has family wealth, too. Rolling in it, actually.”

“So you keep it casual because you don’t want your family to get involved?”

Luna looked at Hermione with surprise.

“I’m very impressed. Nobody ever catches on that quickly.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t just like a boy without it getting so complicated.”

“Thanks. One day I’ll figure out how to do just that. Until then, I have my fun.”

“Sounds chaotic.”

“It is. Anyway, enough about me. I’m supposed to be asking the questions. Anyone at home? Friends? Ex-lovers?”

The way Luna so casually said ex-lovers at such a young age made Hermione want to bury her face in the sand and _die_.

“I have two best friends; Harry and Ron. We met at school when we were eleven. They’ve always been like brothers to me but,” she hesitated, still feeling awkward about the memory, “Ron tried to ask me out right before I left for my trip and I said—”

“ _Hell_ , no,” Luna interrupted her. Hermione laughed, embarrassed.

“Pretty much,” she shrugged. “Like I said; brothers. It was never going to work out well. It’s been a bit weird ever since. Our emails are really awkward, but I hope we can get past it and be good friends again.”

Luna tilted her head, watching her appraisingly. Hermione reddened further under the scrutiny, letting her curls fall into her face.

“You’re very pretty, you know.”

“I don’t—”

“You shouldn’t be scared to get out there and meet people.”

“Right.”

“I know a million guys who would kill to know you.”

“Send one my way, why don’t you?” Hermione snickered, wondering what type of guy Luna would date.

“I will.” There was a gleam in the younger girl’s eyes. “Actually, my cousin and I are throwing a party tonight. Our parents are going to Monte Carlo for the weekend and they’ve allowed us to hold it while they’re away.”

“Oh, that’s very nice.”

“Will you come?”

Hermione blanched.

“What?”

“Will you come to the party? We’ve invited all of our friends and I would love for you to come as my guest.”

“Oh. No,” Hermione shook her head, “I’m not really a party person. I don’t have anything nice to wear—”

“Don’t be silly! Just wear this,” Luna gestured to the summer dress Hermione had thrown on this morning. “Or another dress.”

“Luna, I don’t _have_ anything else. My suitcase is tiny.”

“This is fine, Hermione. Please come. My cousin’s two best friends are coming and they are handsome as fuck.”

“Handsome as—”

“ _Fuck_ , yes, and they’ve got good manners, too.”

Hermione considered it.

“If I come, should I bring anything? A bottle of wine or something?”

“Don’t be silly, just bring yourself.”

Hermione looked at Luna, who was growing more and more excited by the moment. She knew she wouldn’t be able to refuse her new friend.

“All right. I guess it would be nice to go to a party. I haven’t been to one in ages.”

“Well, then. Let’s make this a night to remember.”

The girls kept talking for another hour, trading stories and taking turns asking and answering questions as the sun rose higher in the sky. Hermione was just about to ask Luna if she wanted to grab a sandwich at the local _boulangerie_ when there was a low, frustrated curse from beside her. She turned to see Luna glaring at her watch.

“What?”

“I totally forgot I have to go meet Pansy Parkinson just now. She’s a horrid girl that my cousin occasionally dates, and she practically forced me to have lunch with her. _And_ she’s coming to the party. It’s _revolting_.”

“Where do you need to go?”

“It’s close by, but I’d much rather stay here and talk to you.” Luna stood, dusting the sand from her dress. “Unfortunately, she’ll complain to her mother, who will, in turn, complain to my mother, so I’d better get it over with. Ugh, so annoying.”

Hermione got to her feet, too, and frowned when Luna pushed a small card into her hand.

“What is this?”

“Come down to the marina tonight and give this to Carlo. He’s really tall and he has an earring, and he’ll be waiting on the dock. Tell him your name and he’ll get you to the party.” Luna kissed her cheeks, European-style, before waving and walking away. “See you later, Hermione!”

“See you, Luna,” Hermione replied, before a thought popped into her mind. “Wait, why do I need to go down to the marina? Where do you live?”

But when she looked up, Luna was already scurrying down the beach towards the fancy-looking row of restaurants that lined the water.

— — —

“Hermione Granger?” Carlo was British, bald, and bigger than a tree.

“Yes, that’s right. Erm, Luna told me to give this to you,” she explained, handing the burly man the black card. He looked down at it before nodding and turning away, touching the headset attached to his ear.

“One minute, Miss Granger. Would you mind hopping into the boat?” He pointed to the beautiful boat that looked like a convertible car. “I’ll contact security at the yacht and let them know you’re on the way.”

She nodded, carefully stepping off the dock and into the boat, wobbling slightly in the heels she had borrowed from the girl renting the room next to hers. She sat on the leather bench and waited while Carlo spoke into the headset. He then turned back to her and hopped down to the boat.

“Sorry for the wait, Miss Granger. I’ve been told to bring you straight to the side entrance of the party so you don’t need to go through security.”

“Security?” Hermione squeaked, unsure what kind of party had bag checks. The boat whirred to life and pulled away from where it was docked. Carlo turned back to give her a reassuring smile in the fading light of the setting sun.

“You’re a friend of Miss Lovegood?”

“Oh,” Hermione nodded, forgoing an explanation of her hasty and slightly bizarre relationship with Luna. “Yes. Yes, we’re friends.”

“That’s nice. She doesn’t have a lot of friends.”

“How come?”

“She just doesn’t.” The man shrugged.

“Right. Erm, sorry, could you tell me where we’re going?”

Carlo pointed to the bright glow emitting from a yacht anchored in the distance.

“ _Le Serpent_.”

Hermione balked, mouth hanging open. As the yacht—or floating _castle_ , perhaps—came closer into view, she felt the nerves from earlier settle back into her bones.

“This is Luna’s yacht?”

“Her uncle’s. This one’s the largest in the family, but they own many of the yachts in the harbour.”

“Holy shit.”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed, but the man only chuckled.

— — —

“You’ve _what_?” Theo Nott asked, staring at Luna over his martini. His dark eyes gleamed with something unsettling behind them.

Neville Longbottom sat beside her, a hand running up and down her thigh.

“She sounds very nice,” he offered, smiling at his girlfriend. “If Luna’s made friends with her, she must be great.”

“And,” Luna started, her voice heavy with warning, “I want you boys on your best behaviour tonight, understood? I don’t care if she even _asks_ you to behave like monkeys. You’re going to be chivalrous and lovely, and you will make _sure_ that she has a wonderful time.”

“What is this, charity for beginners?” Blaise Zabini drawled. “Don’t worry, darling Looney, we’ll take very good care of your little pauper.”

Luna glared at him.

“You’re such a dick, Blaise. She’s not a charity case. She’s sweet and kind, and you’d be lucky to even talk to her.”

“Alright, alright,” the handsome man flashed his pearly smile with a hand raised in defence. “Only teasing, love.”

“You’d better be. I’m warning you. All of you.” She was rewarded with several murmurs of assent.

“Honestly. Snakes, the lot of you.”

“Hey!”

“Except you, sweetheart, my darling, lionhearted man.”

— — —

Hermione was helped onto the boat by a very kind steward, who offered to take her coat and the bottle of wine that was clearly out of place in this setting. She watched as waiters weaved expertly through the crowd of beautifully dressed people, offering coupes of champagne and hors d’oeuvres to the guests onboard.

“Could you make sure the wine gets to Miss Lovegood’s room, please? It’s for her, especially.”

The steward nodded before melting into the crowd, and Hermione was left alone. There was an excited squeal to her left and she looked to see Luna elbowing her way through the throng of people. She was dressed in a stunning couture gown that fell to the floor; a buttery yellow material that went well with her delicate features. Hermione nervously smoothed the skirt of her own dress, another borrowed article of clothing from her neighbour. It was dark red, knee-length and hung off-the-shoulder, but she knew as soon as she’d stepped onto the yacht that it was far too casual for such a fancy event.

This was not a house party as she’d presumed it would be.

This was a black-tie party.

“You look _gorgeous_!” Luna shouted, and Hermione winced. The younger girl was already a little drunk, based on the hazy way she was staring at her.

“You look so pretty, Luna. I love your dress.”

“Oh, this old thing.” She lifted the skirt, making a face. “It’s one of Mummy’s!”

“What?”

“One of my mother’s designs!”

“Right. Of course. Uh, Luna, why didn’t you tell me the party was going to be like this? I don’t belong here! Especially wearing something so plain—,”

“Don’t be silly, darling,” Luna interrupted her, “Of _course_ you belong here! You’re with me!”

“Are you—,”

“Come, let me introduce you to my friends!”

And with that, Luna was wrenching Hermione through the throng of people, pulling her to an area behind a pair of elegant French doors, where it was decidedly more cosy—and less crowded—than the outer decks. Several men and women lounged on dark leather sofas scattered around the room.

All of them were staring at her.

“Everyone, everyone, attention please!” Luna called, her voice as light as a fairy as she raised her glass. “This is my friend, Hermione!”

Some of the people just blinked at her, one of the ladies glared like she was her mortal enemy, and others—namely the group of men in the corner who all looked like male models—just smiled, beckoning her over. She felt Luna pushing her shoulder and she stumbled forward, wrapping her arms across her body in an attempt to divert attention from the glaringly obvious fact that she was underdressed.

“You never said how pretty she was, darling Luna.” A handsome man with dark skin and sparkling eyes stared at her, and she shifted, uncomfortable under his attention.

Another man stood, offering her a seat. He had what her mother would call _“a Roman face”._

“Hermione,” he took her hand, bending at the waist to brush his lips against it, “I’m Theodore Nott, but all my friends call me Theo.” He paused, looking at her devilishly; winking as he wet his lower lip with his tongue. “ _You_ can call me whatever you’d like. Can I get you anything to drink? Some whisky, perhaps? Or a cocktail?”

She sat, desperately trying to catch Luna’s eye, but her new friend was draped across another man’s lap, nuzzling into his neck. He had brown hair and a kind smile, and the way that he was carefully holding Luna suggested to her that this was Neville, one of her two boyfriends. He smiled at Hermione, waving his hand before getting distracted by his girlfriend.

Hermione focused her attention on the man in front of her and smiled, trying to be neither too friendly nor too unfriendly. It was very difficult. These people were clearly in a league of their own.

“Just a glass of white wine, _Theodore_ ,” she answered him, attempting to hide her nervousness with false bravado.

There was a chorus of appreciative laughter and she smiled uneasily, still very aware that she was the fly in the ointment. All of a sudden, the laughter died off, replaced by some nervous tittering and a few coughs.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?”

Hermione looked up to see a beautiful man with sharp cheekbones and hair paler than Luna’s standing above her, with a grim set to his stunning features. His presence somehow made the room feel glacial, despite the warm breeze blowing through from the open doors.

Luna noticed the change in the atmosphere, because she was suddenly scrambling to get off Neville’s lap.

“You’re here! _Finally_! Hermione, I’d like to introduce you to my cousin.” She threw Hermione a slightly forced smile.

“Who is this?” His tone bordered on accusatory.

Luna laughed, but it was strained.

“Hermione, remember? I told you about her before. We met at the supermarket.”

“How exactly did you meet at the _supermarket_?”

Something flashed over Luna’s face; a combination of panic and embarrassment.

“Actually, it’s a funny story—”

“Luna saved me.” Hermione interrupted whatever she was going to say, understanding how mortifying it would be to admit in front of all their friends that someone like her had paid for Luna’s groceries. “I was at the shops and I’d forgotten to bring my purse so I only had a bit of change in my pocket. She paid for my things and that’s how we started talking.” She ignored the sniggers from beside her and focused on Luna’s relieved face. The girl mouthed a _thank you_ behind her cousin’s back, and Hermione smiled. Luna’s cousin looked less than impressed, his expression growing colder as the seconds passed.

“Is that so.” It wasn’t a question. Luna nodded, eagerly.

“Yes, It is! It’s so. Now stop spoiling our fun and go away,” Luna hissed.

“Anyway—erm, hello. Good evening. I’m Hermione Granger.” She stood up, holding out a hand. She tried to ignore the fact that it was shaking and hoped Luna’s cousin wouldn’t notice it, either.

The man stared at her for a minute with a calculating gaze, unmoving, unblinking. His expression was so hard that she nearly sank down to the couch; instead, she dropped her hand back to her side. The muscle in his jaw tightened briefly before he spoke again, his voice as cold as his eyes.

“Draco Malfoy.”

— — —

Hermione didn’t know why the room was so quiet, or why Draco Malfoy seemed to really dislike her from the instant they met, but he was suddenly pulled away by a woman with a sharp French bob and red lips.

Hermione watched her usher him to another couch, but before he sat down, he threw her another look and she decided that leaving this particular area of the party was a very good idea.

Luna, it seemed, was back to being distracted by Neville, and after a hasty ‘ _see you later_ ’ to her, Hermione set off, ignoring the protests of both Blaise and Theo.

She walked around to a side deck, snagging a glass of champagne as she did. It was disgusting, but she knew that asking a waiter to bring her a Pepsi Max was out of the question.

She climbed a staircase which brought her to the upper deck, where she could look out over the party. It was relatively quiet here. Another woman was standing by the railing, throwing back the last of her drink. She was stunning—leggy and svelte with long black hair and crystal blue eyes. She glanced at Hermione with some modicum of interest before looking down at the crowd below.

“I’ve never seen you before,” she remarked in an accent that Hermione couldn’t place.

“Oh,” Hermione turned to face her, “I’m not—I mean, I’m a recent friend of Luna’s.” She didn’t know where from, but this lady seemed familiar.

“And what are you?”

“Sorry?”

“What is it that you _do_?”

“Oh! I’m just travelling. I finished university and I wanted to explore before I start looking for a job.”

“Right.” The familiar-looking woman had an extremely uninterested expression on her face, as if Hermione was attempting to list all of the elements on the periodic table for her.

“And, uh, what do you do?”

The lady gave her another glance, looking somewhat offended by the question.

“I’m a model. A _Victoria’s Secret_ _model_.” Hermione nodded, trying to hide her surprise. Of course there were supermodels on this boat. This was the French Riviera, after all. Anything could happen.

“So, do you travel much, as a model, or is it a local—,”

“Excuse me, Adriana,” a cold, now-familiar voice interrupted from behind them, sending chills down Hermione’s spine, “but I need to have a word with Miss Granger.”

The model, Adriana, looked up and nodded with a smile, before turning to walk down the stairs. Hermione spun on the spot to see Draco Malfoy looming above her.

“Erm, hello.”

“Why are you here?”

The abruptness of the question took Hermione by surprise, but she tried to play it as calmly as she could.

“Luna invited me.”

He looked at her like she was an idiot.

“Yes, I am aware of that. Why are you _here_ , though? How did you come to meet Luna and why would she feel the need to bring an outsider into our world?”

“An _outsider_? Your _world_?” Hermione felt a lick of anger escape her polite exterior and she tried not to scowl at the very rude man in front of her. “Excuse me, but what exactly do you think I’m here to do?”

“You tell me. You can’t think I’m stupid enough to buy your story. What kind of idiot forgets their money when they go to the store?”

“A lot of people forget their money—,”

“Luna,” he started, grabbing onto Hermione’s elbow, “is a very sweet, but _naive_ girl. I love her dearly and I won’t see her hurt by someone like you.”

“Hurt her? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!” Hermione wrenched herself out of Draco’s grasp and turned to steady herself on the railing. She felt him come up behind her, and then his lips were by her ear.

Annoyance shot straight through her body. In a dangerous voice, he said, “Do you know what I really hate?”

“What?” she bit out, unsure if he would appreciate an elbow to the ribs. She tried anyway, and he caught her arm as it tried to bury itself in his chest. He held her in place.

“Gold-diggers.”

At this, she spun around to face him again, furious. This time, she didn’t worry about being polite.

“Seriously? What the hell is your problem?”

“You.”

“You’re accusing me of being a gold-digger?”

He shrugged.

“That, or some sort of reporter.”

“Why would I be a reporter? What could a reporter possibly want here?” “What magazine _wouldn’t_ want an inside look at one of our parties? Our guests are very important people and they don’t want their activities splashed across gaudy tabloids.” He waved a hand around as if to demonstrate before pointing a finger at her. “I could see it on your face, as plain as day, that you were lying about how you met Luna.”

“I _wasn’t_!”

“You need to get better at lying. You’ve got a rather obvious tell.”

When she didn’t dignify his remark with a response, he leaned down again, whispering, “Your silly little shaking hands.”

She ignored him, turning her head away.

“I met Luna yesterday and I didn’t even know who she was. I swear to you, this isn’t some sort of trap—,”

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Leave this yacht immediately and don’t come back. You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

“But Luna invited me and she wouldn’t—”

“I don’t care. Look at this place.” He grabbed her shoulders and spun her to look over the crowd again. “You don’t belong here. These people are _friends_ of ours. They don’t need to mix with people like you. They’re well-bred and come from good families and we trust them. You’re from another world.”

“That’s rather classist of you.”

“Don’t try to rise too high, it won’t work.”

“I’m not trying to _rise_ anywhere—”

“You’d never belong here.”

Something inside of Hermione snapped at his last statement and she stepped away from him, trying very hard not to cry. She placed her glass on a small table, not wanting it to be a victim of this argument.

“I don’t know why you’re being so cruel. I know I’m not part of this world and I never pretended to be.”

“Clearly.” He gave her a brief once-over. “You can’t even dress the part.”

She felt embarrassment colour her cheeks and she looked away.

“I didn’t know it was going to be so fancy.” “That’s rubbish.”

“It doesn’t even make sense that I’d wear something different on purpose. If what you’re accusing me of doing was true, wouldn’t I have wanted to blend in?”

He blinked, thrown off for a moment.

“Regardless—”

“I’m not trying to infiltrate this party. You’re right, I don’t belong here, but that doesn’t mean you have to be such an absolute arse about it.”

“I will _always_ protect Luna from people who try to use her.”

“I’m not _using_ her. Why can’t you understand that? I would never—” She started to argue, but instead, turned on her heel and marched down the stairs. “You know, what? Forget it. Tonight was a mistake. I didn’t even want to come. I was happy with my damn book.”

There was no use reasoning with people like Draco Malfoy, but his words stung anyway and she realised how badly she wanted to be away from this yacht; away from this night. Mostly, she was desperate to get away from him. The tears only spilled when she was out of his view. She searched for Luna and finally found her sitting by the bar, talking to someone who looked remarkably similar to Keanu Reeves. Hermione tapped on Luna’s shoulder, and the blonde stood up, beaming.

“Hermione, there you are! I’d like to introduce you to Keanu—hey, what’s wrong?” She stood from the seat, ushering Hermione to a quiet corner.

Hermione shook her head, wiping her cheeks.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Luna pulled Hermione’s hands away from her face, looking at her intently. “Who made you cry?”

“No one. I tripped and stubbed my toe.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” Luna gave her a look. “Why don’t we go downstairs for a bit? We could hang out in Draco’s room and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

“No, I—” Hermione glanced around, making sure Luna’s cousin wasn’t lurking nearby, “it’s getting late and I really don’t feel comfortable staying too long—”

“Don’t be silly! You’re my guest! I want you to have fun!”

“I did! I did have fun, Luna. Promise.”

“Then why are you going so soon? It’s not even midnight yet!”

“I’m just really tired. It’s all a bit overwhelming and I think I need to go lie down.”

Luna didn’t look like she believed her, but the desperation in Hermione’s voice must have persuaded her to stop trying to convince her to stay.

“Alright, I’ll get Carlo to take you back to the dock.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll come and find you tomorrow, okay?”

Hermione didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d probably never see her again.

— — —

Luna stormed into the private lounge, furious.

“Alright, who was it?”

A blank, drunk group of men stared up at her.

“Who was what?” Theo asked.

“Who made Hermione cry?”

Luna looked every one of her friends in the eye—except for Neville, of course—and landed on her cousin, languidly lounging on the couch with a glass of whisky in his hand. He looked extremely pleased with himself. She grabbed him by his collar and yanked him upright, pulling him from the room and into private quarters. When they were alone in Lucius Malfoy’s office, she turned on him.

“How _dare_ you, Draco Malfoy!” It was more of an accusation than a question.

“How do you know it was me?”

“By the shit-eating expression you’ve got all over your face, you absolutely arse!” She shook her head, frustrated. “What did you do?”

Draco went to stand by a window, staring out at the night sky. He tapped the glass he was still holding with his free hand, his family ring clinking against it.

“I knew she was lying about how you met. Clearly, she invented the story about not having money with her.”

Luna laughed, incredulously.

“Oh, my God, do you even hear yourself when you talk? Why the hell would she do that?”

“Because she knew who you were. The same way journalists and schemers have always known who we are. She was trying to get into your confidence; to trick you.”

Luna rolled her eyes. Her cousin’s flare for the dramatic knew no bounds and she sank down into a plush armchair, resting her chin in her hand.

“You’d make such a good detective,” she started, and Draco turned around with his signature smirk plastered across his face, “if you weren’t such an absolute idiot.”

His face fell and he stared at her, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“I _know_ she lied to you.”

“You do.”

“Yes, I do. She wasn’t lying _to_ me, she was lying _for me_.”

Draco’s expression went through a range of emotions and he settled on dull confusion.

“Lying for you,” he parroted.

“I’m the one who forgot my money. It was the other way around. I was at the local store, behind her in the line and she offered to help me when I told her I’d forgotten to bring cash or a card with me.”

“ _She_ helped you.”

“Yes.”

He worried his lip, trying to make sense of what Luna was saying. She resisted the urge to throw a vase at him.

“Why on earth were you even at the store? We have staff for that.”

“Okay, first, you sound like the biggest snob in the word. Second,” Luna sighed, colour staining her cheeks, “do you remember at breakfast last week, when my father made that remark that I wouldn’t know how to even make coffee by myself?”

Draco grew annoyed at the memory, momentarily forgetting the topic of discussion.

“He was just being a dick; you know that, Luna.”

“I know, but it was really embarrassing to feel like my own father thinks of me as this helpless little girl who can’t do anything without a maid or a cook, or whatever. You know?”

“So you decided to go to the store and prove him wrong.”

“I thought I’d sneak into my parents’ room and surprise them with breakfast in bed.”

“Did it work?”

“I burnt the toast and the orange juice was bitter, but they didn’t laugh in my face so I counted it as a win.”

“And the reason she lied for you?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because she’s a lot nicer than the people we know, Draco. She saw how embarrassed I was about it and decided to make herself look like the idiot in the story so our friends wouldn’t laugh at me. It’s so silly, I know, but I didn’t want them to have another reason to call me Loony Lovegood.”

“So, Hermione Granger—”

“Was kind enough to pay for the things I wanted to buy and when I tried to get her contact information so I could pay her back, she refused.”

“She didn’t let you pay her back?”

“Well, the next morning, I went back to where I met her. I asked a lot of random people if they knew a girl with curly hair and a British accent, and one of her neighbours told me she usually had breakfast at the local cafe. I found her and snuck inside to pay off her bill as a thank you, and she was very annoyed about it.”

“So you pursued _her_ and not the other way around.”

“Yes. And I can almost guarantee that you hurt her feelings and made her leave, when the only thing she did was be kind to a stranger who needed a bit of help.”

Draco had the good sense to look ashamed as he sat down on the sofa across from her.

“I presumed—”

“Yes, and you’ve made a girl cry. I hope you’re happy about that, by the way. Very chivalrous behaviour. What would Madam McGonagall say now?”

“Don’t bring the bloody governess into this, Luna.”

“She didn’t even know who I was, Draco. Do you know how refreshing it was to introduce myself to someone who’s never heard of me? Of our family? She doesn’t know that my mother is a fashion designer or that your father owns half of Europe. I made a _friend_. A friend who has a brain and a heart. Not one of those zombies that was pushed at me because they were of good breeding or whatever. An actual friend who asked me about what I like to do in my spare time and what kind of music I like. And you’ve ruined it. I know how callous you can be to people who don’t live up to your exacting standards and she didn’t deserve whatever it was that you said to her.”

Draco set his glass down, and ran a hand across his face, suddenly weary.

“I’m sorry.”

Luna glared at him, tears pricking at her eyes.

“I don’t think _I’m_ the one to whom you should be apologising.”

There was a moment of silence, and then he stood up, buttoning his jacket. She followed him with her eyes as he threw back the rest of his drink.

“What are you doing?”

He walked towards the private staircase that led down to the back of the boat.

“Exactly what you suggested. I’m going to find her and apologise.”

— — —

Unsurprisingly, Draco Malfoy was not good at apologising.

He was a skilled polo player, knew his way around a dance floor better than most, and no one could beat him at a game of chess.

Saying sorry and meaning it? He was rubbish at that. His palms were already sweating and he didn’t know if he’d even catch up to Luna’s friend. Carlo was waiting by the side of the yacht and he waved to him.

“Mr Malfoy?”

“Can you get me to the mainland as quickly as possible?”

“Yes, sir. Get in and hold on tight.”

Draco hopped into the boat and he was barely steady before Carlo took off, zooming out into the open water.

“Did you take a girl back to the marina just now? About this tall,” he motioned to the height of his own shoulder, “with curly brown hair?”

“Hermione, you mean?”

Draco frowned.

“You know her?”

“Oh, yeah. Sweet girl. Asked me about myself and everything. She saw the pictures of my kids,” he pointed to the selection of photographs taped to the dash, “and asked about them, too. She even gave me some book recommendations for them. Isn’t that nice?” He picked up a small piece of paper, waving it at Draco.

“Did she say where she was going?”

“She didn’t eat anything at the party so she was going to grab something from one of the local bars. Asked me if she could pick up something for me to eat, too,” Carlo chuckled. “She was worried that I might be hungry. Can you imagine? Never met a kid like her before.”

As they came closer to the dock, Draco scanned the nearby bar fronts to see if he could spot a cascade of wild curls in the crowd.

“Sir, she’s not there.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because,” Carlo said, “she’s over there.”

Draco looked at where the man was pointing, to a lone figure sitting further down the dock. He hopped out of the boat as they quietly slid into its docking space.

“Thank you, Carlo.”

“Sir, if I may?”

“Yes?”

“Someone made her cry and she was very good about it. Said she just slipped and hurt her knee, but I could tell. She wouldn’t have left the party so early when I only dropped her off forty minutes ago.”

“Someone did make her cry.”

Carlo jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Those kids up there, I know they’re your friends but some of them can be real jerks sometimes.”

“I know.” Under his breath, he muttered, “ _complete fucker_.”

“She’s a special girl. Kind. You know, most people don't usually treat me as much more than the help. She went out of her way to treat me well.”

“Yeah.” Draco could feel himself deflating.

“She was excited about tonight, too. She told me when I first picked her up from the dock. She borrowed her outfit because she didn’t have anything nice to wear.”

Draco didn’t know if the boat driver knew that it was him who made Luna’s friend cry, but he felt ashamed either way.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay, Carlo.”

The man nodded.

“Give me a buzz when you need me to pick you back up, sir.”

— — —

Hermione was sitting with her dress pooling around her, legs hanging off the edge. As Draco walked up to her, he noticed a small parcel laid out next to her on the dock.

It was buttered bread.

He felt guilt twist in his stomach that she had left without eating any of the delicious food on board the yacht. Malfoy parties were famous for a reason. And here she was, eating plain bread for her dinner.

She was beautiful. He stood a few metres away from her, observing her profile in the moonlight. From the minute he had laid eyes on her at the party, he knew that she was different from the people he knew. As furious as he had been, he was still acutely aware of the obvious.The fact that his friends were practically salivating over her was sign enough to prove that there was something special about her. It was the way she had come to the party with no makeup on her face—he knew she had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks—and her curls flying everywhere. If she were from his social circle, her hair would have been ironed flat and pinned up, her makeup sultry and dark to match the colour of her gown. She didn’t look anything like the women he had grown up with. She didn’t act anything like them, either.

She must have noticed his presence in her periphery because she turned, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked him over.

“Wasn’t it satisfying enough to kick me off of your yacht? Do you need me to leave the marina, too?”

Draco felt himself begin to get defensive. It would be so easy to lob a retort back at her, but he tamped it down. She had every right to chasten him.

“I came to apologise.”

“Why?”

“Luna told me the truth.”

“So...you’re not apologising because you were a complete arse?”

“I am.”

“No, it sounds as if you’re apologising because you realised you were wrong about me.”

“Is there a difference?”

“There is.”

Draco sighed, unused to having to explain himself to a woman who was clearly too smart for his bullshit.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. For being a complete arse and also because I was wrong about you.”

“Mhmm.”

“Can I join you?”

She shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure you have more right to be on this dock than I do. Carlo told me your family owns most of these boats.”

“He’s right.”

“Why is that?”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione looked around the dock, her hand lifting to point at the open express cruiser that was bobbing around in the water in front of them.

“Why does your family own so many boats? Carlo told me that the ones with the green flag are yours and I counted at least twenty while I was here. It must be a pain to have to keep them serviced.”

Draco’s frown smoothed out with understanding.

“We rent them out to people in our social circle.”

He watched Hermione’s face contort with surprise but she managed to keep her voice even.

“Right. Like...a car rental service, but for rich people.”

Coming out of her mouth, he realized how ridiculous it sounded, and she was absolutely right.

“Something like that.”

There was a beat, and Draco stared out at the inky black sea until Hermione spoke, asking,

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“What exactly does your family do? I mean,” she ran a hand through her curls with an incredulous look on her face, “ _clearly_ you’re rich and all that, but is it inherited wealth? Or is someone famous?”

Draco, for the first time in his life, was uncertain how to answer a question about his family. In truth, no one had ever needed the explanation because everyone he met already knew what the Malfoy name meant; the weight it carried.

“Well, there is a part of it that’s inherited wealth. My great-grandfather was a banker in France. He made much of our fortune, but then his children all branched out and started their own businesses with their individual inheritance. My father then inherited his father’s real estate development company. It brings in the majority of our income. My mother comes from Italian royalty so we have the heritage box ticked.” He rolled his eyes. “Luna’s father is the eccentric in the family. He’s a producer. Some plays, too, but mostly just films. That’s how he met his wife. She was a costume designer on a film set.”

Hermione nodded, before a crease appeared between her brows.

“Sorry if this is silly,” she said, “but how exactly are your parents related? I don’t quite understand.”

“Oh! Of course, it _is_ confusing. Luna’s dad is my father’s brother.”

“But her last name—,”

“Is my paternal grandmother’s family name. It was in my grandparents’ marriage contract that the second son would carry her maiden name to continue it on.”

“Marriage contract? _Seriously_?”

“Our family is...complicated.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

Draco pressed his palms against the rough grain of the wooden dock beneath him and stared down at the tips of his shoes.

“Luna is my best friend. She’s my cousin, but we’ve always been more like brother and sister.”

When Hermione didn’t say anything, Draco continued.

“Our parents, by any stretch of the imagination, are not the most nurturing people. They shipped us off to boarding school when we outgrew our governess and we only got to know them properly after we graduated.”

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t seem like an ideal childhood.”

The thought of his previous cruelty against the kindness of her sympathy made the contrast even more stark. He thought back to Carlo telling him that Hermione had given him a list of book recommendations for his children, and took a chance.

“Have you ever read _The Secret Garden_?” he asked, running his fingers along the grain of the wooden dock beneath him. She nodded, eagerly.

“It was one of my favourite books when I was a child,” she said. “I still read it sometimes.”

“I do, too,” he confessed. The smile she gave him was so warm that he nearly lost his train of thought. He coughed and carried on. “Well, you know the start, where Mary’s parents have zero interest in her? They just want to have parties and socialise?”

“Yes.”

“That’s sort of like my parents, Luna’s too. We’re just a little more subtle about it.”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.”

“They would be away for months, sometimes. Just travelling or spending time at their holiday homes.” He tried not to sound bitter, but it came naturally when talking about his family.

“Without you?”

“Of course. Boarding school, remember?”

“That doesn’t sound horrible _at all,_ ” she remarked, sarcastically. “Not the boarding school thing, really. That actually sounds really interesting. But, the rest of it seems really awful.”

He shrugged, and they remained in silence for a few minutes before their conversation continued.

“What do your parents do? Do they work?” He tried to ask this neutrally, without any judgement. She nodded.

“They’re dentists, and I think they might be as far away from the parents in _The Secret Garden_ as possible. I can’t imagine how different my life would be if we were like you and your family.”

Draco didn’t bother hiding a wince.

“Don’t imagine it, _please_. I know it seems glamorous but it truly isn’t. My family believes that money and class are more valuable than anything else in the world. Our parents will only show interest in us when it comes time for us to get married, because they have grand designs to try and further the family name. I was always able to deal with it, but Luna,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “is more affected by the way we’ve been raised. She never understood why we couldn’t go to regular school like the kids in movies. She hates having bodyguards when we’re in bigger cities. And she’s always been so desperate to make friends with normal people, because she thinks our friends are dull as rocks.”

“Are they?”

He laughed, unabashedly.

“Yes, but that comes with the territory. You see, the real downside of being filthy rich is that one develops little to no sense of character. Blaise Zabini—I think you met him—is a good example of this phenomenon.”

Hermione nodded, trying not to smile.

“He’s very handsome, though.”

Her comment irked Draco more than it should have and he played off his grimace as casually as possible.

“He’s alright.”

“So, are you speaking on behalf of all rich people?”

“I’m generalising. Obviously neither Luna nor I fit into this category.”

“I’ve no doubt about Luna, but it might take a bit more convincing for me to believe that you’re so different from your friends.”

“I behaved badly, and for that, I am truly sorry. Angry people are not always wise.”

“Quoting _Pride and Prejudice_ won’t get you anywhere with me.”

“Won’t it?” He didn’t bother hiding the teasing in his voice.

She looked away and he suspected she was hiding a blush. They sat in silence for a little while longer, both looking out at the water, watching as the gentle waves lapped against the dock.

“I understand why you reacted the way you did.”

He tried to school the shocked surprise on his face into something a little less desperate.

“Really?”

She turned back to face him, nodding slowly.

“Really. I understand wanting to protect the people you love. And if you are _this_ protective of Luna, there must be a very good reason for it.”

Draco felt a bad memory tug at his heart and he pushed it away.

“There is.”

“It doesn’t excuse the fact that you behaved like a chimpanzee, Malfoy, but I’m willing to look past it.”

“And why is that, _Granger_?”

“Because,” she considered him for a moment, and he ignored the need to look away from her scrutiny, “you came all the way out here to say sorry. I know you’d much rather be there with your friends.” She tilted her head towards the bright, glittering spot in the distance that was his father’s prized yacht.

The statement could have been true at a different time, but not now.

“I’m having a better time here with you,” Draco confessed. “Anyway, speaking of the party, why don’t you come back with me now? Luna will be happy to see you. Carlo can’t stop raving about you either. You might even get to try one of our chef’s famous chocolate macarons, if Theo Nott hasn’t eaten them all.”

Hermione looked torn but she shook her head, smiling sadly as she gazed across the dark ocean.

“I think I’ve had enough partying to last me a little while. And anyway,” she took a deep breath, “I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”

As quickly as Draco had allowed himself to be excited about the chance to get to know this interesting, slightly eccentric woman, the chance would besnatched away from him. His face fell.

“Where are you going?”

“Rome. I’ve already spent too much time here. Got caught up in the fairytale.”

“If this is because of tonight—”

“It’s not.”

He noticed that her hands were trembling and lifted his own to place it upon hers, drawing her attention up to him.

“Why are you running away?”

It seemed like she was going to deny it, but then her expression changed. She looked defeated; embarrassed.

“You were right, before. I don’t belong here.”

“Hermione, please don’t say that. I was being—”

“No, it’s true. You were speaking the truth, no matter how much I didn’t want to hear it. This place,” she waved a hand behind them, “this town isn’t for me. It’s for people like you, who have money to spend and places to go to. I don’t belong here with my books and lack of social graces. That’s not what Saint-Tropez is for. Tonight was just a confirmation of that.”

“You can’t really believe that, can you? You belong wherever you want to belong.”

“And that’s all very well in theory, but reality isn’t so kind to us commoners.” She passed it off like a joke but they both winced. “I don’t dress like the people here, I don’t shop like the people here—I don’t even _look_ like the people here.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

If Hermione noticed the weight in Draco’s words, she hid it well. She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, looking at him with a resigned smile.

“Please apologise to Luna for me. I feel awful not telling her in person but I’m leaving early and she probably won’t be up by then.” She made to get up but Draco stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“She sleeps until noon after a big party.”

Hermione’s eyes flickered down to the hand still resting on her forearm, but neither moved.

“So you’ll tell her, then?”

“Please don’t go, Hermione.”

She smiled, wistfully.

“I have to. I told you, there’s nothing for me here.”

“Stay one more day.”

“ _Draco—_ ”

“Just one more day,” he beseeched, unable to hide the desperation in his voice. “ _Please_. Let me have tomorrow to make up for ruining what should have been a lovely evening.”

Hermione tilted her head, frowning.

“I’d have to change the flight I’ve booked.”

“Change it,” he said, automatically. “I’ll change it for you.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you want to spend a beautiful day in Saint-Tropez with me? You don’t even know me.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Not _really_ , anyway.”

“I’d like to know you.”

“I’ll ask you again: _why_?”

“For…” Draco struggled to find a reason that wasn’t _because I’d rather enjoy watching you eat an ice cream at my favourite glacier_ , “Luna.”

“Luna.”

“Yes.”

“‘ _Luna sleeps until noon the day after a big party’,_ ” she said, parroting his previous words. He laughed, his cheeks reddening.

“Fine, for Luna in the _afternoon_. She'll be so happy to see you again. I really made her angry when you left tonight and I know she’ll want to make it up to you in her own way.”

“And the morning?”

Draco hesitated a glance in Hermione’s direction and found her smile still firmly in place.

“What about the morning?” he asked, as innocent as he could be. She smirked.

“Hypothetically, we’re meeting Luna in the afternoon. What is the morning for?”

“The morning is, uh,” he struggled to think of a valid reason, “it is for...croissants. The best in the city.” He made a mental note to ask one of the staff to recommend a cafe in the town that made good croissants.

Hermione crossed and uncrossed her legs, turning to face Draco properly.

“Let me get this right. You want me to stay here an extra day for Luna and for croissants.”

There was a suspiciously knowing sparkle in her eyes and Draco decided to not be a coward about it.

“ _And,”_ he said, “because it would probably be the most interesting day I’d have this whole summer.” He watched her worry her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered his request. He knew he had no right to expect her to say yes, given how he acted, but maybe he’d managed to redeem himself a little.

“You’re a fascinating man, Draco Malfoy. You’ve managed to make me go from almost hating you to almost liking you in the space of one conversation.”

“You like me?”

She laughed.

“It’s much easier to like you when you’re not being an utter prick.”

He grinned devilishly at her. “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.”

“Will it just be us tomorrow? If I stay?” Hermione asked. “None of your other friends, right?”

“Just us.” Luna would certainly be passed out and hungover for a good few hours, so he would have plenty of time to spend with Hermione. Alone. “You and I for the morning and then we can get Luna and go out in the evening.”

He watched her rip a piece of bread into tiny crumbs as she debated the idea, before glancing up at him.

“What about your...friend,” Draco heard the hesitation in Hermione’s voice, “Pansy?”

He tried not to grin.

“What about her?”

“She won’t mind if you spend the day with me?”

“I should hope not. That irritating bint keeps popping up wherever I go but I’ve been done with her since we were eighteen.”

There was a beat of silence before Draco spoke again, and this time, he was the one hesitating.

“Is there anyone waiting for you? At home, I mean?”

Hermione shook her head, looking up at the stars.

“No one. Never has been.”

“So you’ll stay for tomorrow?”

He watched as her gaze drifted from the sky to the water to him, and when they locked eyes, she smiled.

“I’ll stay.”

“For Luna?” he asked. She bit her lip and he fought the urge to lean over and kiss her.

That could wait.

It was too soon, anyway. Tomorrow was his chance to redo their disastrous first meeting. He had a whole day to convince Hermione that there was so much more for her here in Saint-Tropez, and he wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

“For Luna...and the croissants, obviously.”

**Author's Note:**

> The moodboard for this fic can be found [here](https://pin.it/2fRFvqy)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave me a comment if you'd like to chat, or feel free to drop me a line over on [tumblr](https://nztina.tumblr.com/)
> 
> P.S. my French is nowhere near as good as it used to be so let me know if I've done anything wrong in those first few paragraphs.
> 
> For your understanding, "ça va" is an all-purpose phrase, so it's both a question and an answer. In this case, Hermione asks Luna "are you okay?" and Luna responds "I'm fine." 
> 
> "Je ne parle pas français couramment" simply means "I don't speak French fluently" and "ceux-là, aussi" would be "those as well/those things, too".


End file.
